A Child’s Boggart
by rachel614
Summary: AU in which Snape is tired of his role as the evil potions master, and after the third year’s first Defense lesson he makes a decision that accidentally changes everything. Because if Neville had Snape’s potions book, he’d actually know something about plants… S/N mentor story, with a side of HP. No slash.
1. Boggart

**This is primarily a Neville Snape mentor story, but I expect Harry will work his way in, the incorrigible child. I'd love to hear what y'all think...**

He hears the whispers, of course. The same snickering laughter that had always seemed to follow in the Marauders' wake. There is no sympathy in his colleagues' eyes, merely stifled amusement.

_It's only what you deserve._

This once, Severus Snape cannot fault their judgment. He has a role to play, and he has played it to perfection. What better way to cement his image as cruel, heartless, and Dark Arts obsessed Potions Master than to ceaselessly and remorselessly bully poor, bumbling Neville Longbottom?

But he'd never imagined he could be anyone's worst fear.

Hated? Pitied? Ostracized and despised by all except those he so blatantly favors? Yes, of course—this is his goal. But he'd never thought he could instill so much terror that he is a child's _Boggart_.

He is ashamed, and he is tempted. Imagine their faces, if but for one day he could abandon this careful balancing act. If for one day he could allocate points and punishments as are deserved, without fear of repercussions. If for one day he could simply teach, and govern the most dangerous class in all Hogwarts through reasonable, common sense safety measures, rather than sheer fear and a spy's attention to detail. He's lost count of how many thrown potions ingredients he's silently Switched with something more harmless, and just once he'd like to verbally lambast Draco Malfoy for his malice-ridden stupidity.

It is a fond dream he will never see, because there would be hell to pay, and he's not so foolish as to think he'll survive the coming war.

But today, as laughter dogs his footsteps and judgement shines in every gaze, Severus Snape decides that something, _something_ must give. He is a liar and a spy, who betrayed the one person he ever loved. He is bound to a path he dare not falter upon, lest the last thing he holds sacred fall to ruin.

But he is damned if he will be Neville Longbottom's Boggart any longer.

*

He scours every inch of his old textbook. This is not his copy of Advanced Potion Making, and it holds no dark spells or defiant appellations. But this is the book he used his first five years of Hogwarts, those golden years with Lily, and its secrets are far less dark and far more damaging.

Her name is not present anywhere, but he traces her handwriting where it appears in their scribbled arguments, and for a moment he falters, unsure if he can bear to part with it, after all. In the end he swallows, and obliterates only his name on the inside front cover. Perhaps, even in their childish arguments over additions and modifications, Lily and Sev can teach Longbottom what Professor Snape cannot.

He dashes off a note, allowing his handwriting to slip into the same cramped scrawl that fills the textbook's pages. A student in handwriting could trace his elegant professor's screed to its humble origins, but only if they are looking for a likeness. Severus does not intend that Longbottom should ever have reason to look for one.

_Dear Mr. Longbottom,_

_I have heard through my connections to the school that you have a most difficult relationship with the current Potions Master. As a master in the Art myself, it appalls me that any student should be forced to study it under a professor he fears._

_The staffing decisions of the Headmaster are not within my power to affect, but I offer you two things which I hope might alleviate some of your distress._

_First, a word of advice: your Professor Snape has only what power you give him. He cannot, no matter what he threatens, do anything more than assign you detentions and take points. He is infamous even among his peers for his unpleasant character, unsavory history, and the vitriol of his tongue, and should he leave Hogwarts and the Headmaster's protection he would find it difficult to establish himself elsewhere. Thus he might threaten and bluster, but he cannot truly harm you without destroying his prospects. I do not advise you to confront him, but to allow his taunts and vitriol to slide off you, secure in the knowledge that you are safe, and that Severus Snape is merely a bitter and small-minded man with no future._

_Second, a more tangible aid, which you will no doubt find easier to implement. The package accompanying this letter is my own potions textbook from when I was your age, complete with modifications and discussions of theory. While merely using my adaptations will improve your performance, I strongly urge you to think about the reasons for those changes. Much of the theory of potions lies in an understanding of the properties of ingredients and their preparation, and the greater your understanding there, the easier the brewing will be. If you truly wish to understand potions, and not merely scrape through, I recommend a thorough study of 1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi, A Primer on Proper Ingredient Preparation, and The Basic Theorie of Potiones, all of which should be available in the Hogwarts Library._

_I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors, and humbly request that you keep my interference hidden, even from your friends._

_Yours,_

_HBP_

*

Longbottom's face as he reads the letter is a study. Severus is grateful that no pays much attention to the boy, lest someone realize that something is up.

Wariness gives way to confusion, incredulity, and something that might just be hope, before settling into an expression of thoughtfulness that seems utterly foreign on Longbottom's face. He feels a small, unfamiliar glow of satisfaction inside him, and so is not prepared for the way the boy's gaze flies up and fixes on him. He sneers, almost automatically, and Longbottom blanches, the familiar terror returned.

Severus Snape is not prepared for how much that terror hurts him, like a blow that steals his breath and replaces it with bitter disappointment. He swallows, feeling his face retreat into its customary mask, and focuses on taking deep breaths. Of course. Of course, a few words from a stranger would not be enough to overcome two years of fear. Hopefully the boy will take advantage of the book, giving him an excuse to be just a little less abrasive in class. If not, he'd have to do something else.

This would bear thinking upon.


	2. CHAPTER 2: A SERPENTINE INTROSPECTION

**Hello, friends! Here is another (very) short little chapter! I'm afraid there's no Neville this time around, but hey, we get another look into Snape's character and motivations. A brief note on that: this fic is a very _charitable_ interpretation of dear Severus, to say the least. I don't usually headcannon Snape as faking most of his general evilness/terrible teaching practices, but for the Sake of The Plot!**

**In other news, I've only really posted on Ao3 before this, and I must admit I find the mechanics of this site a bit frustrating, particularly the fact that my italics keep disappearing! I swear they show up when I copy and paste into the app, and then the disappear when I _save_ (cue inarticulate noise of frustration). On the bright side, it's training me to be more circumspect in my use of said italics, which can only be a good thing. ;)**

**Finally, a ****sneak peek at next time: Neville is awesome, and Harry's smarter than Snape thinks!**

**Without further ado, I give you:**

CHAPTER 2: A SERPENTINE INTROSPECTION

He decides that, at the very least, he could afford to redirect most of his vitriol in the direction of _Potter_. If he does absolutely nothing in retribution for the Boggart, people will think him polyjuiced. However, it is reasonable enough that he might have been discreetly warned not to take it out on Longbottom himself. In fact, he thinks he has been warned, if Minerva's fierce looks over breakfast the morning of his first lesson with Longbottom since the Boggart incident are anything to judge by. He gives her a slow, unpleasant smile, and has the dubious pleasure of watching her contemplate dumping her tea in his lap.

His relationship with Minerva has always been...fraught, to say the least. She was his teacher once, and remains one of the few faculty members he holds in high esteem. While fiercely protective of her lions, she has always been very fair in her punishments and point allocations, and generally refrains from criticizing his own blatant favoritism. She understands as few Gryffindors could how difficult it is to be Head of a house that is largely ostracized by three quarters of the school, is riddled with spoiled children of influence, and is prejudiced against his own half-blood status. He likes to think that if he were free to handle matters as he chose, he would not be so cowardly as to allow such difficulties to bother him, but he is grateful enough that Minerva doesn't hold it against him.

What she does hold against him are those necessities of his role that render him into a truly terrifying and vicious figure. He has no illusions about the fact that he is neither kind nor a good man. He takes a bitter sort of pleasure in tearing inflated teenage egos to shreds, and enjoys the power that his words and reputation grant him. He is not so foolish as to think that even if he were free to teach as he chose, he would ever be _liked_. But not all of his cruelties come natural to him, and it stings more than he would care to admit that every time he says something cutting to Longbottom, he loses a little more of Minerva's respect.

Because she does respect him, he thinks. Although the burdens of his past constrain him, he has a skill with potions that is rare even among Masters. The potions he brews for the Madame Pomfrey are superior to anything she might get elsewhere, and—unlikely as it seems—he possesses a talent for healing magic as well. This last, he suspects, might be the true root of Minerva's esteem, for although he despises attempting to cram knowledge of his beloved art into the reluctant heads of idiot children, though he has spent half his life in bitter unhappiness, he finds a small measure of self respect in taking on the duty of protecting not only Lily's child, but all the children. He does not bother with their tempestuous emotions, but if a child is ever seriously hurt, he will be there offering Poppy whatever aid he can provide. Minerva has found him over the beds of too many of her lions not to know this, and this is what has earned her respect.

He does not want her to ever know how much this small measure of respect means to him.

xxx

Potter has not ever been afraid of him, not even when he was pint-sized first year. This both galls and relieves him in equal measure. It is necessary, has always been necessary, for him to appear to despise the so called Boy-Who-Lived. That he is the spitting image of James Potter makes this easier, and so he deliberately does not look past Potter's hair and Potter's glasses, to see if there is anything of Lily present. It is a dangerous balancing act—protecting Lily's son while allowing himself to despise James's—and sometimes he slips, forgetting that it is not in fact James Potter standing in front of him. His cutting words and contempt bleed into true malice, and it is those times that he most hates the defiant face of Potter's spawn. His words cut deeper, his actions veer into the truly unacceptable, and he despises that he holds no power over Potter; that nothing he can do can bring fear into James Potter's face.

It is only one of many unforgivable things he has done.

When the rage fades and he is alone again, he is always unspeakably relieved. He has seen hatred from Lily's eyes before, and though it still cuts him somewhere deep inside, it is no more than he deserves, even from Potter, who for all his hatred knows nothing of Severus's true crimes.

But he does not think he could ever bear it if Lily's eyes looked at him with _fear_.


	3. DID YOU SEE SNAPE’S FACE?

CHAPTER 3: DID YOU SEE SNAPE'S FACE?

He isn't sure, what, precisely, he expected, but it definitely wasn't this.

The classroom has fallen into breathless silence as he peers into Longbottom's cauldron. He lifts the ladle and lets the calming draught pour out slowly.

It's not perfect, of course, but it is an entirely acceptable batch and _leagues_ beyond anything Longbottom has ever before produced.

He slowly turns his gaze on Longbottom, wondering how, _how_ he'd missed this. The boy quails slightly under the intensity of his gaze, but meets his gaze squarely.

"Well," he says after a long pause, "It appears that despite all prior evidence to the contrary, you can in fact follow a basic potions recipe." He pauses again, seeing in the boy's eyes relief mixed with defiance and...was that just a bit of pride? He lets a slow, shark-like smile cross his face, and straightens swiftly. He can _use_ pride. "You have made the error of raising my expectations, Mr. Longbottom. Now that I know you are capable of it, I expect all your work to be of this caliber. If you melt another cauldron in my class, you shall be in detention for a month."

Neville Longbottom gulps, audibly. For a moment he is afraid he's pushed too far, too quickly—and then the boy sets his shoulders, fierce determination in his eyes.

Severus Snape moves on to scathingly critique Potter's latest attempt, but inwardly he is basking in a deep satisfaction.

xxx

Harry is pretty sure something's up with Snape.

Everyone else is congratulating Neville, but Harry is thinking about the way Snape had been watching Neville the whole class—not like he watches Harry, an ominous glare that's meant to be noticed—but with quick, shrewd glances, in between complimenting Slytherins and insulting Harry.

"Blimey, Neville, did you see Snape's _face_? I've never seen him so speechless—"

"Yeah, Nev, except I bet he's still got it in for your for the Boggart, and now he's got an excuse—a whole _month_ of detentions—"

"Well I think Neville can do it, if you need any help just let me know—"

"Thanks Hermione, but I think I'll manage."

Neville is quiet, thoughtful. Harry thinks there's something up with Neville, too.

xxx

Severus Snape thinks he should stop being surprised by Neville Longbottom.

He almost didn't hear the faint, timid knock on his office door, but after thirteen years he is intimately familiar with the dungeon's natural symphony of clanging pipes and ghostly moans, and any new sound will stand out.

"Enter," he calls, half expecting one of his Slytherin first years to creep through the door.

There is a long, long pause before the door creaks open and the Longbottom boy steps through, visibly trembling and eyes glued to the floor. The latter is fortunate, because Severus truly cannot control his surprise, and his eyebrows rise so fast he feels a muscle pull in the side of his face. He grimaces in pain just as Longbottom looks up.

Again, that flash of fear, before something hardens in the boy's gaze.

"Longbottom," he says, as neutrally as he can manage. "Why have you come." His lack of inflection renders what should be a question into a statement—a subtle blend of discouragement just short of outright hostility he has spent years perfecting.

"I—I have a question."

Severus slowly puts down his quill, dripping with the scarlet ink he fancies strikes terror into the hearts even of his NEWT level students. The careful, precise motion gives him a brief moment to think.

He isn't sure what to do. He didn't expect this—he'd hoped that by giving Longbottom his precious text, the boy would manage a small improvement; enough to justify fewer acid comments and instill some measure of confidence. He never expected the child to do so well as he has the last few classes, and he certainly never expected the boy to _approach_ him.

He knows what his role as a spy demands. The words tremble on his tongue, ready to spill out in a vitriolic tirade that will crush all suspicion that Severus Snape has anything to offer a Gryffindor. But he looks at the child standing in front of him, who lost his parents because of a prophecy Severus reported as surely as if he'd been the chosen target himself. Neville Longbottom is trembling like a leaf, but he is here, and he wants to _learn_, even from a professor he fears and hates in equal measure.

_He's never missed a single potions class in three years, _he thinks, and in that moment a reckless decision is made. A tenuous plan is sketching itself out in the back of his mind—a way to further his goals with Longbottom without sacrificing his role as a spy—but none of that truly matters, because here and now he's discovered his own breaking point, the final proof that he has principles beyond the sacred memory of Lily Evans.

"You realize," Severus finally says, his tone deceptively mild, "that we have a library."

"I don't know where to look, sir." Severus raises an eyebrow.

"Do go on," he says, tone sardonic. "I am eager to know what troubles your little mind."

"I—I read in… I read that a common substitution in the Wiggenweld Potion is murtlap tentacles. But wouldn't the leaves be better than the arms, sir? I— I mean," he stutters at the expression on his professor's face before plowing through hurriedly. "The leaves are younger and healthier, since they shed and regrow every year while the tentacles hibernate. Shouldn't they have stronger healing properties, then?"

And Severus is surprised, _again_. One really should not underestimate Neville Longbottom, he thinks ruefully. This is a NEWT level question; in fact the very subject of the essays he is currently marking. Many of his students have difficulty with this particular essay, as it requires more than an adequate understanding of Herbology. Which, of course, is why he assigns it every year.

With a dawning resignation, he recalls how Pomona Sprout has always nattered on in the staff room about Longbottom's gift with plants. He'd always dismissed her ramblings as the stubborn charity of a Hufflepuff, but the very truth of it stands before him, plain as day.

"Any fool would know to look in Bullfinch's Compendium," he sneers, a blatant lie. "If you insist on wasting my time with frivolous questions you shall be required to treat them seriously. I expect twenty inches on the subject by Monday."

The appalled expression on the child's face amuses him greatly, but he does not permit even a hint of good humor to show in his malicious smile.

"Yes, sir," Longbottom squeaks, vanishing before he can be given any more homework.

Severus closes the door behind him with a flick of his wand, and indulges in a genuine smile. Dismissing the pile of unmarked essays still waiting, he folds his hands together and thinks. He suspects that whatever plans he weaves will be disrupted by Longbottom's entirely unexpected behavior—but he finds he's almost looking forward to it.

**Haha, a new chapter! Ain't you folks just lucky. It even has real action in it!**

**I had a ton of fun writing Snape here, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Let me know what you guys think!**

**Next chapter: we finally get a peek into Neville's head...**


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